Harold Bell Wright - "Their Yesterdays"

Richard Jefferies - "The Open Air"

John Greenleaf Whittier - "Personal Sketches and Tributes, Part 2, From Volume VI.,"

Unkown - "The Nibelungenlied"

The Young Explorer

H >> Horatio Alger >> The Young Explorer




CHINESE CHEAP LABOR.





Though Dewey had received from the miners a promise that they would
not interfere with Ki Sing in case he gained a victory over
O'Reilly, he was not willing to trust entirely to it. He feared that
some one would take it into his head to play a trick on the
unoffending Chinaman, and that the others unthinkingly would join
in. Accordingly, he thought it best to keep the Mongolian under his
personal charge as long as he remained in camp.

Ki Sing followed him to his tent as a child follows a guardian.

"Are you hungry, Ki Sing?" asked Dewey.

"Plenty hungly."

"Then I will first satisfy your appetite," and Dewey brought forth
some of his stock of provisions, to which Ki Sing did ample justice,
though neither rat pie nor rice was included.

When the lunch, in which Richard Dewey joined, was over, he said:
"If you will help me for the rest of the day, I will pay you
whatever I consider your services to be worth."

"All lightee!" responded Ki Sing, with alacrity.

Whatever objections may be made to the Chinaman, he cannot be
charged with laziness. As a class they are willing to labor
faithfully, even where the compensation is small. Labor in China,
which is densely peopled, is a matter of general and imperative
necessity, and has been so for centuries, and habit has probably had
a good deal to do with the national spirit of industry.

Ki Sing, under Richard Dewey's directions, worked hard, and richly
earned the two dollars which his employer gave him at the end of the
day.

Of course Dewey's action did not escape the attention of his fellow
miners. It cannot be said that they regarded it with favor. The one
most offended was naturally O'Reilly, who, despite the pounding he
had received, was about the camp as usual.

"Boys," he said, "are you goin' to have that haythen workin'
alongside you?"

"It won't do us any harm, will it?" asked Dick Roberts. "If Dewey
chooses to hire him, what is it to us?"

"I ain't goin' to demane myself by workin' wid a yeller haythen."

"Nobody has asked you to do it. If anybody is demeaning himself it
is Dick Dewey, and he has a right to if he wants to."

"If he wants to hire anybody, let him hire a dacent Christian."

"Like you, O'Reilly?"

"I don't want to work for anybody. I work for myself. This Chinaman
has come here to take the bread out of our mouths, bad cess to him."

"I don't see that. He is workin' Dick Dewey's claim. I don't see how
that interferes with us."

Of course, this was the reasonable view of the matter; but there
were some who sided with the Irishman, among others the Kentuckian,
and he volunteered to go as a committee of one to Dewey, and
represent to him the sentiments of the camp.

Accordingly he walked over to where Dewey and his apprentice were
working.

"Look here, Dewey," he began, "me and some of the rest of the boys
have takin' over this yere matter of your givin' work to this
Chinaman, and we don't like it."

"Why not?" asked Dewey coolly.

"We don't feel no call to associate with sich as he."

"You needn't; I don't ask you to," said Dewey quietly. "I am the
only one who associates with him."

"But we don't want him in camp."

"He won't trouble any of you. I will take charge of him."

"Look here, Dewey, you've got to respect public sentiment, and
public sentiment is agin' this thing."

"Whose public sentiment--O'Reilly's?"

"Well, O'Reilly don't like it, for one."

"I thought so."

"Nor I for another."

"It strikes me, Hodgson, that I've got some rights as well as
O'Reilly. Suppose I should say I didn't choose to work in the same
camp with an Irishman?"

"That's different."

"Why is it different?"

"Well, you see, an Irishman isn't a yeller heathen."

Dewey laughed.

"He may be a heathen, though not a yellow one," he said.

"Well, Dewey, what answer shall I take back to the boys?"

"You can say that I never intended to employ the Chinaman for any
length of time; but I shall not send him off till I get ready."

"I'm afraid the boys won't like it, Dewey."

"Probably O'Reilly won't. As for you, you are too intelligent a man
to be influenced by such a man as he."

All men are sensible to flattery, and Hodgson was won over by this
politic speech.

"I won't say you're altogether wrong, Dewey," he said; "but I
wouldn't keep him too long."

"I don't mean to."

Hodgson returning reported that Dewey would soon dismiss the
Chinaman, and omitted the independent tone which the latter had
assumed. The message was considered conciliatory, and pronounced
satisfactory; but O'Reilly was not appeased. He still murmured, but
his words produced little effect. Seeing this, he devised a private
scheme of annoyance.






CHAPTER XXX.

A MIDNIGHT VISIT.





This conversation set Dewey to thinking. Though he was independent,
he was not foolishly so, and he was not willing, out of a spirit of
opposition, to expose his new acquaintance to annoyance, perhaps to
injury. He did not care to retain Ki Sing in his employment for any
length of time, and made up his mind to dismiss him early the next
mornng, say, at four o'clock, before the miners had thrown off the
chains of sleep.

He did not anticipate any harm to his Mongolian friend during the
night; but this was because he did not fully understand the feeling
of outraged dignity which rankled in the soul of O'Reilly.

Patrick O'Reilly was like his countrymen in being always ready for a
fight; but he was unlike them in harboring a sullen love of revenge.
In this respect he was more like an Indian.

He felt that Richard Dewey had got the better of him in the brief
contest, and the fact that he had been worsted in the presence of
his fellow miners humiliated him. If he could only carry his point,
and deprive the Chinaman of his queue after all, the disgrace would
be redeemed, and O'Reilly would be himself again.

"And why shouldn't I?" he said to himself. "The haythen will sleep
in Dewey's tent. Why can't I creep up, unbeknownst, in the middle of
the night, and cut off his pigtail, while he is aslape? Faith, I'd
like to see how he and his friend would look in the morning. I don't
belave a word of his not bein' allowed to go back to Chiny widout
it. That is an invintion of Dewey,"

The more O'Reilly dwelt upon this idea the more it pleased him. Once
the pigtail was cut off, the mischief could not be repaired, and he
would have a most suitable and satisfactory revenge.

Of course, it would not do to make the attempt till Ki Sing and his
protector were both fast asleep. "All men are children when they are
asleep," says an old proverb. That is, all men are as helpless as
children when their senses are locked in slumber. It would be safer,
therefore, to carry out his plan if he could manage to do so without
awaking the two men.

O'Reilly determined not to take any one into his confidence. This
was prudent, for it was sure to prevent his plan from becoming
known. There was, however, one inconvenience about this, as it would
prevent him from borrowing the scissors upon which he had relied to
cut off the queue. But he had a sharp knife, which he thought would
answer the purpose equally well.

It was rather hard for O'Reilly to keep awake till midnight-the
earliest hour which he thought prudent-but the motive which impelled
him was sufficiently strong to induce even this sacrifice.

So, as the shadows darkened, and the night came on, Patrick O'Reilly
forced himself to lie awake, while he waited eagerly for the hour of
midnight. Meanwhile, Richard Dewey and Ki Sing lay down at nine
o'clock and sought refreshment in sleep. Both were fatigued, but it
was the Chinaman who first lost consciousness. Dewey scanned with
curiosity the bland face of his guest, looking childlike and
peaceful, as he lay by his side.

"I wonder if he is dreaming of his distant home in China," thought
Dewey. "The cares of life do not seem to sit heavy upon him. Though
he has been in danger to-day, and may be so still, he yields himself
up trustfully to the repose which he needs. Is it true, I wonder,
that cares increase with mental culture? Doubtless, it is true. If I
were in China, threatened with a loss which would prevent my
returning to my native country, I am sure it would keep me awake.
But there can be nothing to fear now."

Richard raised himself on his elbow, and looked about him. The tents
of the miners were grouped together, within a comparatively small
radius, and on all sides could be heard-it was now past ten-the deep
breathing of men exhausted by the day's toils. This would not
ordinarily have been the case at so early an hour, for when there
was whisky in the camp, there was often late carousing. It chanced,
however, at this time that the stock of liquor was exhausted, and,
until a new supply could be obtained from San Francisco, necessity
enforced the rule of total abstinence. It would have been well if,
for months to come, there could have been the same good reason for
abstinence, but, as a matter of fact, the very next day some casks
were brought into camp, much to the delighted and satisfaction of
the anti-temperance party.

Finally Dewey fell asleep, but his sleep was a troubled one. He had
unthinkingly reclined upon his back, and this generally brought bad
dreams. He woke with a start from a dream, in which it seemed to him
that the miners were about to hang Ki Sing from the branch of one of
the tall trees near-by, when he detected a stealthy step close at
hand.

Instantly he was on the alert. Turning his head, he caught sight of
a human figure nearing the tent. A second glance showed him that it
was O'Reilly, with a knife in his hand.

"Good heavens!" thought Dewey, "does he mean to kill the poor
Chinaman?"

A muttered sentence from O'Reilly reassured him on this point.

"Now, you yeller haythen, I'll cut off your pigtail in spite of that
impertinent friend of yours--Dick Dewey. I'll show you that an
O'Reilly isn't to be interfered wid."

"So he wants the poor fellow's queue, does he?" said Dewey to
himself. "You're not quite smart enough, Mr. O'Reilly."

There was no time to lose.

O'Reilly was already on his knees, with the poor Chinaman's
treasured queue in his hand, when he felt himself seized in a
powerful grip.

"What are you about, O'Reilly?" demanded Richard Dewey, in a deep,
stern voice.

O'Reilly uttered a cry, rather of surprise than alarm.

"What are you about?" repeated Richard Dewey, in a tone of
authority.

"I'm goin' to cut off the haythen's pigtail," answered the Irishman
doggedly.

"What for?"

"I've said I'd do it, and I'll do it."

"Well, Mr. O'Reilly, I've said you sha'n't do it, and I mean to keep
my word."

O'Reilly tried to carry out his intent, but suddenly found himself
flung backward in a position very favorable for studying the
position of the stars.

"Are you not ashamed to creep up to my tent in the middle of the
night on such an errand as that, Patrick O'Reilly?" demanded Dewey.

"No, I'm not. Let me up, Dick Dewey, or it'll be the worse for you,"
said the intruder wrathfully.

"Give me your knife, then."

"I won't. It's my own."

"The errand on which you come is my warrant for demanding it."

"I won't give you the knife, but I'll go back," said O'Reilly.

"That won't do."

"Don't you go too far, Dick Dewey. I'm your aiqual."

"No man is my equal who creeps to my tent at the dead of night. Do
you know what the camp will think, O'Eeilly?"

"And what will they think?"

"That you came to rob me."

"Then they'll think a lie!" said O'Reilly, startled, for he knew
that on such a charge he would be liable to be suspended to the
nearest tree.

"If they chose to think so, it would be bad for you."

"You know it isn't so Dick Dewey," said O'Reilly.

"I consider your intention quite as bad. You wanted to prevent this
poor Chinaman from ever returning to his native land, though he had
never injured you in any way. You can't deny it."

"I don't belave a word of all that rigmarole, Dick Dewey."

"It makes little difference whether you believe it or not. You have
shown a disposition to injure and annoy Ki Sing, but I have foiled
you. And now," here Dewey's tone became deep and stern, "give me that
knife directly, and go back to your tent, or I'll rouse the camp,
and they may form their own conclusions as to what brought you
here."

O'Reilly felt that Dewey was in earnest, and that he must yield. He
did so with a bad grace enough and slunk back to his tent, which he
did not leave till morning.

Early in the morning, Richard Dewey awakened Ki Sing.

"You had better not stay here, Ki Sing," he said. "There are those
who would do you mischief. Go into the mountains, and you may find
gold. There you will be safe."

"Melican man velly good-me go," said the Chinaman submissively.

"Good luck to you, Ki Sing!"

"Good luckee, Melican man!"

So the two parted, and when morning came to the camp, nothing was to
be seen of the Chinaman.

Dewey returned O'Reilly's knife, the latter receiving it in sullen
silence.

It was not long afterward that Richard Dewey himself left Murphy's
in search of a richer claim.






CHAPTER XXXI.

ON THE MOUNTAIN PATH.





My readers will not have forgotten Bill Mosely and his companion Tom
Hadley, who played the mean trick upon Bradley and our hero of
stealing their horses. I should be glad to state that they were
overtaken and punished within twenty-four hours, but it would not be
correct. They had a great advantage over their pursuers, who had
only their own feet to help them on, and, at the end of the first
day, were at least ten miles farther on than Ben and Bradley.

As the two last, wearied and well-nigh exhausted, sat down to rest,
Bradley glanced about him long and carefully in all directions.

"I can't see anything of them skunks, Ben," he said.

"I suppose not, Jake. They must be a good deal farther on."

"Yes, I reckon so. They've got the horses to help them, while we've
got to foot it. It was an awful mean trick they played on us."

"That's so, Jake."

"All I ask is to come up with 'em some of these days."

"What would you do?"

"I wouldn't take their lives, for I ain't no murderer, but I'd tie
'em hand and foot, and give 'em a taste of a horsewhip, or a switch,
till they'd think they was schoolboys again."

"You might not be able to do it. They would be two to one."

"Not quite, Ben. I'd look for some help from you."

"I would give you all the help I could," said Ben.

"I know you mean it, and that you wouldn't get scared, and desert
me, as a cousin of mine did once when I was set upon by robbers."

"Was that in California?"

"No; in Kentucky. I had a tough job, but I managed to disable one of
the rascals, and the other ran away."

"What did your cousin have to say?"

"He told me, when I caught up with him, that he was goin' in search
of help, but I told him that was too thin. I told him I wouldn't
keep his company any longer, and that he had better go his way and I
would go mine. He tried to explain things, but there are some things
that ain't so easily explained, that I wouldn't hear him. I stick to
my friends, and I expect them to stand by me."

"That's fair, Jake."

"That's the way I look at it. I wonder where them rascals are?"

"You mean Mosely and his friend?"

"Yes. What galls me, Ben, is that they're likely laughin' in their
shoes at the way they've tricked us, and there's no help for it."

"Not just now, Jake, but we may overtake them yet. Till we do, we
may as well take things as easy as we can."

"You're right, Ben. You'mind me of an old man that used to live in
the place where I was raised. He never borrered any trouble, but
when things was contrary, he waited for 'em to take a turn. When he
saw a neighbor frettin', he used to say, 'Fret not thy gizzard, for
it won't do no good.'"

Ben laughed.

"That was good advice," he said.

"I don't know where he got them words from. Maybe they're in the
Bible."

"I guess not," said Ben, smiling. "They don't sound like it."

"Perhaps you're right," said Bradley, not fully convinced, however.
"Seems to me I've heard old Parson Brown get off something to that
effect."

"Perhaps it was this-'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"

"Perhaps it was. Is that from the Bible?"

"Yes."

"It might have been made a little stronger," said Bradley
thoughtfully. "The evil of some days is more than sufficient,
accordin' to my notion."

The two explorers camped out as usual, and the fatigue of their
day's tramp insured them a deep, refreshing sleep. The next day they
resumed their journey, and for several days to come no incident
worthy of mention varied the monotony of their march. Toward the
close of the fourth day they saw from a distance a figure
approaching them, who seemed desirous of attracting their attention.
Ben was the first to see him.

"Jake," said he, "look yonder!"

"It's a Chinee!" said Bradley, in surprise.

"How did the critter come here, in the name of wonder?"

"I suppose he is looking for gold as well as we."

"The heathen seems to be signalin' us. He's wavin' his arm."

This was the case. The Chinaman, for some reason, seemed to wish to
attract the attention of the newcomers. He stopped short, and waited
for Ben and Bradley to come up.

"Who are you, my yeller friend?" asked Bradley, when he was near
enough to be heard.

"My name Ki Sing."

"Glad to hear it. I can't say I ever heard of your family, but I
reckon from the name, it's a musical one."

Ki Sing probably did not understand the tenor of Bradley's remark.

"Is there any hotel round here, Mr. Sing?" asked Ben jocosely,
"where two weary travelers can put up for the night?"

"Nohotellee!"

"Then where do you sleep?"

"Me sleep on glound."

"Your bed is a pretty large one, then," said Bradley. "The great
objection to it is, that it is rather hard."

Ki Sing's mind was evidently occupied by some engrossing thought,
which prevented his paying much attention to Bradley's jocose
observations.

"Melican man wantee you," he said, in an excited manner.

"What's that?" asked Bradley. "Melican man want me?"

Ki Sing nodded.

"Where is he?"

Ki Sing turned, and pointed to a rude hut some half a mile away in a
little mountain nook.

"Melican man thele," he said.

"Come along, Ben," said Bradley. "Let us see what this means. It may
be some countryman of ours who is in need of help."

The Chinaman trotted along in advance, and our two friends followed
him.






CHAPTER XXXII.

THE MOUNTAIN CABIN.





At length they reached the entrance to the cabin. It was a rough
structure, built of logs, containing but one apartment. On a blanket
in one corner of the hut lay a young man, looking pale and
emaciated. His face was turned to the wall, so that, though he heard
steps, he did not see who crossed the threshold.

"Is that you, Ki Sing?" he asked, in a low voice. "But why need I
ask? There is not likely to be any one else in this lonely spot."

"That's where you're mistaken, my friend," said Bradley. "I met that
Chinaman of yours half a mile away, and he brought me here. You're
sick, I reckon?"

The invalid started in surprise and evident joy when he heard
Bradley's voice.

"Thank Heaven!" he said, "for the sound of a countryman's voice,"
and he turned to look at his visitor.

Now it was Bradley's turn to start and manifest surprise.

"Why, it's Dick Dewey!" he exclaimed.

"You know me?" said the sick man eagerly.

"Of course I do. Didn't we work together at Murphy's, almost side by
side?"

"Jake Bradley!" exclaimed Dewey, recognizing him at last.

"The same old coon! Now, Dewey, what's the matter with you?"

"Nothing serious, but enough to lay me up for a time. A week since I
slipped from a rock and sprained my ankle severely-so much so that I
can't use it safely. I've often heard that a sprain is worse than a
break, but I never realized it till now."

"Has the Chinaman taken care of you?" inquired Bradley.

"Yes; I don't know what I should have done without Ki Sing," said
Dewey, with a grateful glance at the Chinaman.

"Was he with you when the accident hapened?"

"No; I lay helpless on the hillside for two hours, when,
providentially, as I shall always consider it, my friend Ki Sing
came along."

The Chinaman usually impassive face seemed to light up with pleasure
when Richard Dewey spoke of him as his friend.

"I tell you what, Ki Sing," said Bradley, turning to the
representative of China, "I never thought much of your people
before, but I cheerfully admit that you're a brick."

"A blick!" repeated the Mongolian, appearing more puzzled than
complimented.

"Yes, a brick-a real good fellow, and no mistake! Give us your hand!
You're a gentleman!"

Ki Sing readily yielded his hand to the grasp of the miner. He saw
that Bradley meant to be friendly, though he did not altogether
understand him.

"Had you ever met Ki Sing, Dick?" asked Bradley.

"Yes; on one occasion I had a chance to be of service to him, and he
had not forgotten it. He has taken the best care of me, and supplied
me with food, which I was unable to procure for myself. I think I
should have starved but for him."

"Ki Sing, I want to shake hands with you again," said Bradley, who
seemed a good deal impressed by conduct which his prejudices would
not have allowed him to expect from a heathen.

Ki Sing winced beneath the strong pressure of the miner's grasp, and
examined his long, slender fingers with some anxiety when he rescued
them from the cordial, but rather uncomfortable pressure.

"Melican man shakee too much!" he protested.

Bradley did not hear him, for he had again resumed conversation with
Dewey.

"Is that your boy, Bradley?" asked the invalid, glaring at Ben, who
modestly kept in the background.

"No, it's a young friend of mine that I came across in 'Frisco. His
name is Ben Stanton. I don't believe you can guess what brought us
up here among the mountains."

"Probably you came, like me, in search of gold."

"That's where you're wrong. Leastways, that wasn't the principal
object of our coming."

"You're not traveling for pleasure, I should think," said Dewey,
smiling.

"Not much. Since our hosses have been stole, there's mighty little
pleasure in clamberin' round on these hills. The fact is, we've been
lookin' for you."

"Looking for me!" exclaimed Dewey, in great surprise.

"Yes, and no mistake. Isn't it so, Ben?"

Ben nodded assent.

"But what possible motive can you have in looking for me?"

"I say, Dewey," proceeded Bradley, "did you ever hear of a young
lady by the name of Florence Douglas?"

The effect of the name was electric. Dewey sprang up in bed, and
inquired eagerly.

"Yes, yes, but what of her? Can you tell me anything of her?"

"I can tell you as much as this: she is in 'Frisco, and has sent out
Ben and me to hunt you up, and let you know where she is."

"Is this true? How came she here? Is her guardian with her?" asked
Dewey rapidly.

"One question at a time, Dick. The fact is, she's given her guardian
the slip, and came out to Californy in charge of my young friend,
Ben. I hope you won't be jealous of him."

"If she trusts him, I will also," said Dewey. "Tell me the whole
story, my lad. If you have been her friend, you may depend on my
gratitude."

Ben told the story clearly and intelligibly, replying also to such
questions as Richard Dewey was impelled to ask him, and his
straightforwardness produced a very favorable impression on his new
acquaintance.

"I begin to see, that, young as you are, Florence didn't make a bad
selection when she chose you as her escort."

"Now, Dewey," said Bradley, "I've got some advice to give you. Get
well as soon as you can, and go to 'Frisco yourself. I surmise Miss
Douglas won't need Ben any longer when you are with her."

"You forget this confounded sprain," said Dewey, looking ruefully at
his ankle. "If I go you'll have to carry me."

"Then get well as soon as you can. We'll stay with you till you're
ready. If there was only a claim round here that Ben and I could
work while we are waitin', it would make the time pass pleasanter."

"There is," said Dewey. "A month since I made a very valuable
discovery, and had got out nearly a thousand dollars' worth of gold,
when I was taken down. You two are welcome to work it, for as soon
as I am in condition, I shall go back to San Francisco."

"We'll give you a share of what we find, Dick."

"No, you won't. The news you have brought me is worth the claim many
times over. I shall give Ki Sing half of what I have in the cabin
here as a recompense for his faithful service."

Ki Sing looked well content, as he heard this promise, and his smile
became even more "childlike and bland" than usual, as he bustled
about to prepare the evening meal.

"I'll tell you what, Ben," said Bradley, "we'll pay Ki Sing
something besides, and he shall be our cook and steward, and see
that we have three square meals a day."

"I agree to that," said Ben.

When Ki Sing was made to comprehend the proposal, he, too, agreed,
and the little household was organized. The next day Ben and Bradley
went to work at Dewey's claim, which they found unexpectedly rich,
while the Chinaman undertook the duties assigned him. Four weeks
elapsed before Richard Dewey was in a condition to leave the cabin
for San Francisco. Then he and Ben returned, Ki Sing accompanying
them as a servant, while Bradley remained behind to guard Dewey's
claim and work it during Ben's absence.

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